Free Boneyard (The Thaumaturge Series Book 2) by Cal Matthews Page A

that the towel had mussed, and then spun me around so that I could examine the new me in the mirror.
    I looked younger. She had tamed my beard into neat lines, precise around my jaw.  My hair was drying into an artful mess. I had forgotten what my ears looked like.
    “What are you going to do?” Dahlia asked, watching me move my head in the mirror, looking at myself from every angle.
    “I have no idea,” I admitted and she stepped up behind me, resting her hands on either side of my neck. In the mirror, our eyes met.
    “I'm scared for you,” she said.
    “I'm scared of me,” I said.
     
    I went home and Leo wasn't there. Cody didn't answer when I called him. I thought about texting Marcus, even took my phone out and thumbed his name, but that was just too pathetic, even for me.
    Never let it be said that I don't rise above expectations.
    The little clock on the oven only read six o’clock, but I filled a glass with water and just crawled into bed anyway, eager to sleep away the rest of my hangover and just get the day over with. I shivered, despite remaining fully clothed and I burrowed down into the cold sheets, smelling my own soap and the very faint lingering scent of Leo. It reminded me of the times I had laid with my face pressed into the sheets, trying to find any trace of Leo's smell after he'd been gone for a while. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my brain to just turn off.
    The wind picked up outside and rocked the trailer. Johnny wandered in and I heard him digging at his dog bed. My bed finally grew warm from my body heat and I kicked some blankets off, sat up to take a sip of water, and then lay back down, my eyes finally growing heavy.
    I fell asleep, sprawled fully clothed across my bed. I dreamed.
     
    My eyes felt open, but in the blackness I couldn't tell for sure.  I blinked, making out gray shapes in the gloom. My dresser. A chair. My familiar bedroom, then. I sat up in bed. Tiny pinpricks of cold touched my skin, and I lifted my face, seeing the black clouds overhead, smelling the snow before more flakes whispered over my face. I stuck my tongue out to catch some because my throat felt bone dry, my tongue like sandpaper. When I raised my hand to my lips, flakes of skin came off against my fingers.
    I got out of bed, my bare feet touching cold, frosted carpet. It crunched when I put my weight on it. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling numb across the backs of my arms.
    “Leo?” I called. The door to my bedroom stood open, light spilling in from the hallway. My mouth worked, trying to build up some saliva, but my tongue just scraped against the dry roof of my mouth. I stepped towards the muted glow of the hallway, my feet crushing the frost.
    “Leo?” I called again. The carpet ended on the threshold of my bedroom door, the linoleum in the hallway covered in cold water. It lapped over my toes, and I looked down. Oily shapes shimmered on the surface of the black water. Unease rolled in my belly. I felt, very strongly, that if I took another step, I would fall into a deep watery abyss. Slowly, I inched forward towards the warm light of the kitchen, probing the stability of the floor with each step.
    Then the hallway ended and I blinked in the sudden brightness. My normal, average kitchen buzzed with its harsh, fluorescent light, homey in a shabby way, and nothing seemed amiss. I made for the kitchen sink, got a glass out of the cupboard and filled the glass with water, draining it to the last drop. The water flowed down my throat without moistening the parched walls of my mouth.
    Behind me came a strange, hollow clacking sound, and I turned to see Leo seated at the kitchen table. He sorted through a pile of white bones, shuffling them across the table before selecting one and sucking the end of it into his mouth.
    I filled the glass with more water and drank it. “I was looking for you,” I said.
    “The rest of the doors are locked,” he replied, and crunched off the end of the bone,